The 100th Hunger Games
by hawthornegirl9
Summary: Take a look at the story of a girl from District 4 who is forced to compete in the 100th Hunger Games or the 4th Quarter Quell.
1. Chapter 1 The Reaping

The 100th Hunger Games

The smoke from the damp wood that is fuelling the flickering fire chokes me and makes me and Dory cough and splutter. Dory may sound like a clumsy 3 year old but she is actually a one-legged 16 year old who lost half her leg to a Great White shark one and a half years ago. She's tough and doesn't let anyone stop her voice from being heard. In fact, the only things she fears are the Capitol and, of course, sharks.

The reason she fears the Capitol is the same reason that we all do. The Hunger Games, the Reaping and every other little burden they've dumped on us since the Dark Days. This year is especially bad. It's the 100th Hunger Games which means a Quarter Quell and an extra cruel twist for the unlucky tributes.

The twist for this year has already been announced. Oh how the people of Panem wept. How the Districts were too astounded for words. How cruel the Capitol could be. This year, in

memory of the children that were killed in the first and second rebellions there will be an age limit of 6-11 rather than 12-18.

I had hoped that I would have just one more year of freedom before the Reapings made me their victim. But I was wrong. This year at the age of 11 I may well be the one in the arena. The sick swirling in my stomach cannot be quelled by anything, not at least until the Games are behind me and I can live in peace again.

At least that's what I hop

I wake up to the sound of soaring seagulls cawing as the waves crash onto the soft white sand. It would be a beautiful day if this was just a holiday, a day where you could go fishing with your friends and family. But it's not. Today is the day of the Reaping. The Justice Building stands erect and perfect, adorned in crimson flags with the seal of Panem on them. And on that sturdy podium there is a big glass bowl with 15 papers that have Brooke Odair printed on them.

As I stand, my attention goes to the Reaping clothes that sit on the end of the bed, waiting for me. A lovely sea green dress that matches my eyes, beautiful satin pumps and a belt with a coral buckle await me. My mother stirs, and begins helping me in to the clothes. She smiles fondly as she attaches my flyaway bun to my head with a coral headpiece. I smile back, to scared for words.

We troop to the Justice Building in the square, where, despite the beauty of the morning, a certain chill hangs in the air. I let the women take my blood and go join the group of 11 year olds that all linger at the front. An overly plump man with rainbow hair and pair of spotted pants that make him look like a clown, walks to the front and stands between the two bowls. This is our escort Leporis Honeyman.

"Happy Hunger Games District 4! And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

After the usual film clip about how we were the ones who did something wrong, he waddles over to the ball containing the female name

"Ladies first!" he announces.

His hand swoops into the bowl and plucks out a name.

"Brooke Odair."

Oh no. No. No. No. It's me.

I stand, rooted to the spot, feeling like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs. I slowly walk up to the stage, determined not to cry or have a meltdown. When she calls for volunteers, all that answers is the wind, whistling across the square. Our escort frowns and walks over to the boys bowl.

"Now for the boys!" he grins.

His sluggish fat hand enters the bowl, and fiddles around a bit, searching for that one paper that will send a boy to his death.

"Neptune Cohen."

A young boy, perhaps only 6 or 7 bursts into tears. A fit looking, rather attractive boy steps forward, shielding the boy from the podium.

'I volunteer as tribute!" he shouts, hand in the air.

He marches to the stage, his face wiped clean of any emotion. I do the same as he speaks his name into the microphone.

"Marlin Cohen."

We shake hands, and I take a moment to size him up. Tall. Strong. Athletic. The odds are definitely in his favour. He'll do well. A certain kindness lingers in his eyes, and I realise I want him for an ally. He saved that little boy. He is strong. Marlin, that boy is the only thing I'll have from home when this nightmare begins. I need him. And maybe he needs me too.

e.


	2. Chapter 2 The Train Ride

Chapter 2

I watch as all colours blur together as we speed out of the district, leaving my home behind. I look over at Marlin, who is digging into an iced cupcake decorated with a small starfish. He, like me, is not making any effort to pay attention to the drawling voice of our clown of an escort, who is reading our 'schedule' which apparently contains 'important' information.

Marlin glances over at me, and for a second our eyes meet. Sea green. Like mine. He nods and turns back to his cake. Then the compartment door slides open and a cloud of smoke drifts in, followed by Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. The cloud of smoke turns out to be Troy, who won the 51st Hunger Games. He puffs on an oversized cigar, creating a smoky grey clouds that drifts through the car. Finnick and Annie sit on two armchairs across from Marlin, and I stroll over to join them.

"Okay," Finnick begins. "First of all, got any special skills?"

"I can use a trident, make knots and can skin fish." Says Marlin.

"I can make fish hooks, throw knives and can tell if a fish is edible sealife." I follow up with.

"Okay, pretty predictable, but we can use this. Now, the Reapings are about to start. Let's go."

As usual, only a few really memorable ones stick in my head. A tall, monstrous girl that shoves another over on her way to the stage. A tiny 7 year old that holds a knife in his belt. A small amber eyed red head that stares, unblinking at the camera. That boy is probably not going to last long.

A young girl is torn from her mother, screaming, and Annie puts her hands over her ears. Finnick leads her over to a two seater lounge and puts his arm around her. She curls up and closes her eyes, like a small child. Honestly, I think she's a little crazy.

Then it comes to us. My name is called. I walk up to the podium, looking strong, resilient. Then the little boy is called. Marlin steps forward, looking unstoppable. We shake hands and look like victors already.

Finnick nods and looks grim.

"We may have some tough competition this year. My only advice is to stay right away from the Careers. Stick together. Work together. But when the time comes to about final five, split up. You don't want to be the only two left."

I understand. Unless you come from District 2, betraying your district partner is the worst crime you can commit. Any ally is bad. But to kill a person that is one of you gives you a one way ticket to the train of shame. Once you kill someone, there is no going back. Someone I love told me that a long time ago and I've never forgot.

After the Reapings are finished, lunch is served. Beautiful salmon, battered in crispy golden breadcrumbs, with some weird cabbage salad called coleslaw, I think. Still, it all tasted amazing. It all tasted like home.

I am shown to my compartment, a sky blue room, with various sealife on the walls and sea green blanket covers. Even the shower is colour coordinated. Speaking of showers, this shower has about 50 buttons. 50 buttons for one stinking shower! Overboard much?

I sigh and hop into bed, hoping for a better day tomorrow.


End file.
